


Heather

by jasondean



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Parent(s), Teen Pregnancy, takes place after the events of the movie/musical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4860968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasondean/pseuds/jasondean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heather Sawyer has it all: Looks, brains, beauty, and charm. All the people in her life are wrapped around her finger. Lovely Heather can do no wrong, but her mother is a different story. Her love is apparent but distant, her care coming and going with the seasons. When her mother leaves her with her high school diary, Heather's life begins to unravel as she discovers her perfect life has very imperfect beginnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

               “No, no, hell no.”

               Her voice was barely a whisper as she stared at the pregnancy test. Two lines. Positive. Pregnant. It couldn’t be… But it had to be. The last four tests came up with almost identical results. The first line appeared faint at first, and she stubbornly insisted that McNamara drive off campus for more tests, to make sure, to get that one, single line of safety.

               “Veronica, are you done in there?” came the concerned voice of Heather McNamara. “Eighth period starts in ten minutes,” she said, giving the stall a short rap of a knock.

               “…Y-Yeah.”

               “Ronnie?” Her voice came softer, more comforting, almost enough to convince Veronica to let go of the tears that made her vision blurry. But not quite. “I don’t think you’re going to get a different result…”

               Veronica blinked, letting the tears roll down her cheeks, quickly patting her face dry. She took in a shaky breath and shut her eyes tight, squeezing the bridge of her nose. God, she’d been so careful. Her life was beginning to pick back up to its usual rhythm of normality, each day bringing her farther away from the damage JD caused. And now this had to ruin everything. She pulled up her skirt and looked down at herself, wondering how this… this _thing_ had survived all that happened. _She_ barely survived all that happened.

               Veronica would not cry in front of McNamara. Heather, along with Martha, had become one of her best friends since the peppy cheerleader found the strength to break away from Duke, but Veronica knew she’d always think of her as one of the Heathers. No matter how sweet her words were, how many inside jokes they laughed about, the wall from the events that lead to and carried out so much pain and death separated them. Chandler was the first aggressor, then Duke was the second, and even though she loved McNamara to death…

               Veronica let the stall door creak open, her stone hard expression meeting Heather’s concerned one. “You’re right,” she said. “I guess I’m really…” Veronica’s voice cracked, revealing her weakness against her will. Those damn tears began to fill her eyes once more, and she shook her head, looking down and away from Heather’s gaze. Her hand shook, making the pregnancy test bounce up and down.

               And suddenly, Heather’s small arms were around her, squeezing Veronica to her slight body. She allowed herself to rest her head on her shoulder, taking a deep breath. She smelled of hairspray and perfume, but beyond that she smelled like cookies baking and long nights gossiping and crying while watching films late at night and swapping stories on the phone. Something like home.

               “Hell, I’m sorry for the waterworks,” Veronica sniffled, her tears staining Heather’s jacket. It was a beautiful thing, something Heather had been raving about for ages about purchasing, and was just the right amount of frill and warmth and yellow checkered pattern. Veronica almost choked on a sob, letting herself go. Heather was her friend, nothing that happened in the past would change that, but still, part of feared she’d go running back to Duke one day, and the lovely girl she’d gotten to really know would disappear forever.

               “Is it…?” Veronica pulled away as Heather spoke the question, her voice dipping down and trailing off. Where worry once lay in Heather’s eyes, pity replaced it. Veronica swallowed hard. Everyone at Westerburg, including Heather, thought JD and herself were in love, or as much as in love as a high school couple can be. She couldn’t let anyone, not even Heather, know what really happened to Chandler, to Ram, to Kurt, to JD… And what might’ve happened to Westerburg. She hated him, sure, but she knew she couldn’t let his memory be tainted. He was just seventeen…

               No one found the thermals. With the chaos that happened after the bomb went off and blew JD sky-high, no one, not even the staff and teachers, noticed Veronica slipping back in to the gym. Veronica didn’t have an answer for why she had to make sure the boy that caused so much ruin and chaos was known as the final tragedy in the Westerburg suicides, but she couldn't let him die a villain.

               “…Yeah. Has to be,” she murmured, Heather going back in for another quick hug, squeezing Veronica and repeating, “It’s gonna be okay!” and other optimistic phrases.

               “Look, we’ll figure it out, ‘kay?” Heather said, her hands resting on Veronica’s shoulders. The brunette smiled a bit. It seemed like only yesterday she had been the strong one, pulling Heather away from despair.

               “Okay,” Veronica said with a nod, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “God, I’m a mess,” she said, shaking her head as she saw the mixture of tears and makeup staining her hand. She looked over Heather’s shoulder and began to laugh as her eyes met the mirror. Her reflection was messy, but it was solid, there.

               She’d get through this.


	2. Chapter 2

                With a flick of her wrist, the teenager created the finishing touch on her makeup, deciding with one glance that the sharp black eyeliner was the precise shape and size. Heather Sawyer examined herself in the mirror, resisting the urge to rub her face with the freshly pressed powders and liquids enhancing her unmistakable beauty. She stood up, her line of sight still in range of the vanity, and worked a hand through her long, chocolate colored hair, separating the sleek curls obtained by an hour working with a heat wand. Satisfied with her final look, Heather’s reflection smiled back at her for a moment and she turned to leave for school.

                Heather’s room was like any other teenage girl’s. She had a twin-sized bed with a plush, pastel blue comforter decorated with clouds and far too many pillows that she may or may not have used to practice kissing on during her younger years. A purple vanity, filled with drugstore makeup Heather easily made look like a thousand bucks on her own canvas of a face, was on the left side of her room, resting on a fluffy white rug. This left room for a bulletin board to hang on her right wall, full of flyers she picked up at her high school along with pictures of her and her friends, all with pearly white smiles and hands forming peace signs.

                Heather bent down to grab her school bag that lay at the end of her bed, throwing it over her shoulder. The girl made her way to the house’s kitchen, her fingers wrapping around an apple that lay on the counter and taking a bite of it. She left for the living room, her gaze sweeping over the pictures that lay over the fireplace. Mostly, it was her mother and herself the couple of years after Heather’s birth.

                She looked curiously at a glossy image that pictured a teenage girl perhaps a year older than her holding a bundle close to her, a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. She had a dazed, mostly exhausted, but joyous look on her sweat-filled face and her hair was frizzy and messy, but there was a shadow of Heather on her. Even now, they had the same thick hair, the same mahogany eyes, and to the displeasure of Heather, the same slightly short height.

                “Mama!” Heather turned and called out, her attention snapping away from the picture. “I’m off!”

                As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the ghostly image of the girl from the photograph appeared in the doorway of the living room. Her gaze swept her daughter, like she might comment on the length of her skirt or the height of her boots, but she just gave her a small, sweet smile. “Be home by three-thirty,” she said. “We’re leaving at four.”

                Heather swallowed a sigh and resisted the urge to give her mother an eye roll. “Yeah, of course,” she said with a grin, giving a thumbs up to show her cooperation, but on the inside she felt a twinge of annoyance. Heather turned and left the door, beginning the trek to her school.

                She’d completely forgotten it was the seventeenth of September. The day was so out of place with her schedule that she hadn’t even noticed the routine that occurred with herself and her mother each year until she was fourteen years old. Every year, always on September seventeenth, she and her mother would visit the only cemetery in town. When she was young, it used to be good fun (Not to sound morbid. Her mother used to bring along a picnic which she and Heather would enjoy.), but as she got older Heather began to tire of the annual event. She remembered past September seventeenths, she and her mother working to clear one of the graves of dead leaves and any other type of debris. _Jason Dean, Beloved son, 1972 – 1989_ the headstone read in engraved, winding gold letters.

                Heather wasn’t dumb. Her mother never said it outright, but she knew the grave belonged to her father. With hints from her grandparents, she’d pieced together he’d died before she was born, even if his name never left her mother’s lips. She figured it out around the same time the date clicked with her. 1989 was the year her mother had gone to her senior year of high school, Heather being born shortly after her graduation. Despite how lost and tired her mother could seem, Heather knew she wasn’t someone who gave up, and that was why they were living comfortably in a rental home now.

                She arrived at the high school minutes later, welcomed with a statue of the school’s mascot, a beastly looking Rottweiler. “Hey, Heather,” came the voice of one of her many friends, Ashley. She was a sophomore, a year below Heather, but Ashley was a good four inches taller than her. With sharp, striking features, dark brown eyes, and silky black hair, she looked like she could be a model, and was constantly told so. Despite outweighing Heather in looks and being a year younger, she was by far Heather’s best friend and closest confidant.

                “You excited about going over to Joey’s today?” she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively and attempting to wink at her. Heather laughed.

                “Oh God, never do that with your face ever again, Ash!” she said, shaking her head as her snickering died down. “Yeah, well, I was kinda worried about it,” Heather admitted as the two walked side by side into the school building that hosted most of the classes. In 1999, Westerburg was remodeled and fit with a second class building, but wasn’t put to much use and ended up being mostly home to mostly after-school and during-lunch clubs.

                “Seriously? _You_ , worried?” Ashley asked, sounding amazed. “Joey basically dropped his pants the moment he laid eyes on you. You’ve literally got absolutely _nothing_ to worry about,” she said.

                “Yeah, well, it doesn’t really matter now. Can’t go anyway,” Heather said as they approached their shared first period class. She tried to make her voice come out smooth and indifferent, but ended up clueing Ashley in to the bitterness that currently swirled in her mind.

                “What?!” Ashley exclaimed, pulling Heather back and making them both stop in their tracks. “Wait… You’re mom isn’t letting you go?” she guessed immediately. “God, that _sucks._ Veronica was like, really cool when I was over yesterday,” Ashley recalled.

                Heather smiled a bit. “Don’t call my mom by her first name, it’s weird… It’s just I forgot we already have plans today. Y’know, like, mother-daughter time,” she tried to explain. _Mother-daughter time doesn’t cover half of it,_ she thought to herself.

                “Lame,” was Ashley’s simple reply. The bell rang and the students milling outside the room filed in. Heather found a seat in the back of the classroom next to Ashley, who had always had a knack for math. Luckily for Heather, they were once again in the same first period math class this year, and there wasn’t much of a better tutor than your best friend.

                The rest of the day was filled with Heather paying the least amount of attention possible in her classes and exchanging pleasantries with girls she’d back-talk as soon as lunch rolled around. As the school day drew on, more of Heather’s clique came into view. Caitlin Day, Jenni Noel, and Anna Vega completed their circle and all the girls sat together at lunch, swapping gossip and attempting to dissect the downcast school lunch.

                “Aw, not getting laid after all?” Caitlin said in a sugary sweet tone, somehow sounding mocking to Heather’s ears. The girl was busy braiding her bleach-blonde hair, her eyes not even meeting Heather’s, or really anyone else who sat the table.

                “Ew. Don’t say laid, it sounds so… Ugly,” Heather said, taking a bite out of one of the only edible things at Westerburg – the turkey-and-lettuce sandwich on whole wheat. Edible wasn’t equivalent to flavorful in the slightest, and the bland taste of dry turkey and over-powering bread filled Heather’s mouth as she chewed.  
                 
                “Making love,” Caitlin supplied, finishing her braid and quickly unbraiding her hair with swift fingers. She ran a hand through the waves and tossed her long hair back, resting her face on her palm.

                “Ew, no,” Heather giggled, her cheeks soon dusted with a rosy pink.

                “No love involved here.” Anna’s voice came from Heather’s right.

                Her only reply was an eye roll, but she couldn’t really dispute her friend’s claim. Her time spent with Joey mostly consisted of making out or tagging onto double dates with one of Heather’s friends and whatever boy they’d picked up. Which usually ended up as making out in the back of a movie theatre or in the car on the way home. Romance was clearly alive in both their hearts.

                “You know what? No. No, I’m going,” Heather declared after a few moments of pondering.

                “Seriously?” Ashley asked, having been quietly picking at her food for the majority of the lunch conversation. “I thought you said you and your mom…”

                “It’s just something dumb we do every year. She won’t mind if I skip out,” Heather said lightly, while in fact she felt excitement and worry swirling in her chest. Heather was usually a goody-two-shoes compared to her friends. She wasn’t much of a drinker and cigarettes made her gag, and she always followed her mother’s orders. Until now, at least. _One time can’t hurt,_ she told herself.

                Lunch was soon over and each girl rushed to the next period. Heather floated by her last three classes, her thoughts focused on how her mother might see her betrayal and how she might be punished. After the initial worries died down, all she could focus on was Joey. Picturing his dirty blond hair pushed out of his face, his light blue eyes, soft lips that called her name… It made her swoon, even if it was just a daydream in class.

                The last bell of the day rang and Heather got her things and quickly headed to the student parking lot, her eyes searching for the beat up car Joey owned. As soon as she focused on it, she felt an arm wrapping around her and a hand resting on her shoulder.

                “Hey, babe,” Joey said, giving Heather a kiss on the forehead.

                “Hey,” she replied as Joey let his arm drop back to his side as he moved in front of her. “So, your place…”

                “Parents are out of town, and my kid brother isn’t out of school till four ‘cause of soccer practice,” he said, quelling any excuse that might have been building up in her. Heather gave him a weak smile, feeling her heart pound in her chest.

                “Whole house to ourselves,” she said, following her boyfriend to his car. Heather was in the process of earning her own license, but there was no way she could afford a car right off the bat, much less any kind of insurance, so having a senior boyfriend who could drive and had his own car was good with her.

                Heather was about to open the passenger door and get into the car when she saw the school’s principal, parting the crowd of students coming out of the building.

                “Get a load of this,” Heather snorted, watching as the man stopped to scold someone for riding their bike while still on school property. The middle-aged, balding principal had become sort of a joke among Heather and Joey, as well as… Well, the rest of the school. Perhaps the rest of Sherwood, Ohio, really.

                It soon became obvious the stout man was heading their way. Joey gave Heather a _What’d you do?_ look. She shrugged with a wide eyes, wondering what possibly could’ve happened with either herself or Joey that would warrant the principal tracking them down in the student parking lot after school hours.

                “Heather Sawyer?” the principal said as he finally stopped in front of her, wheezing a bit. _It’s probably the most exercise he’s gotten all week,_ Heather thought to herself, resisting the urge to whisper the mean comment to her boyfriend.

                “Yep, that’s me,” she said. Whatever he had to say probably had something to do with next season’s sports or something about student government, both of which she participated in each year.

                “Please report to the office.”

                “Why?”

                “Please come with me, Miss Sawyer.”

                “Tell me what’s going on, please,” Heather said, not allowing her voice to rise to a panic despite the alarm bells going off in her head. Someone must have traced the source of some rumor back to her, or thrown her name in with something even worse....

                But nothing prepared her for what came out of the principal’s mouth next.

                “Police officers are here. Something’s… Happened with your mother.”


	3. Chapter 3

                “And nothing indicated your mother might have been depressed?”

                The crisp, calm words that came from the officer’s lips sent chills down Heather’s spine. She would never get used to the way she was handled by the authorities who questioned her, wondering if it was a relief or not that they’d stopped offering flimsy condolences. Two weeks after her mother’s apparent suicide, she was better at hiding her puffy eyes from crying and dark circles from sleep becoming a distant rarity. Perhaps her own faux composure set the professional setting she found herself in rather than the usual sorry looks that were thrown her way.

                “No, I said nothing indicated that she was suicidal… Uh, she was depressed. I think.”

                “And for how long do you suppose she was depressed?”

                “Since I was born. Maybe before that,” Heather said, her soft voice wavering uncertainly. “Like I said, just, uhm, looking back… I think it’s likely,” she said, feeling her throat tighten at the thought that her mother, the one person she had always known was on her side, was fighting a battle and Heather hadn’t even taken notice until she was discovered with a bullet in her head. “She… Wasn’t ever on drugs for it or got therapy for it or anything like that, like, she never saw someone,” she said, attempting to provide further information.

                The officer nodded, scribbling some notes. “Sorry, I know this must all seem very…” He trailed off, letting the uneasy silence stretch between them. He gave a quick shake of his head and finishing his sentence, setting his pen down and sliding the paper back into the file.

                “On the bright side, this’ll probably be the last time you’ll be here,” he said, sitting up straight. Heather mimicked him and straightened her back out herself, her hands resting out in front of her on the table as her gaze focused on the man in front of her. She nodded. With the words, he’d confirmed what she’d suspected – combined with the testimony from herself and her grandparents and the autopsy, her mother’s death was officially a suicide.

                Heather was allowed to read the short note left by her mother a few hours after her death. It seemed hastily written, mostly containing apologies for all the mistakes she’d made in motherhood, and telling Heather how much she loved her. Finally, the letter indicated that the majority of her possessions be left to her parents and money be controlled by her parents until Heather was an adult. She left her only daughter her diary, as it was written out plain in clear in the note.

                The officer cleared his throat. He was an older man, his hair more salt than pepper, with bushy brows and droopy eyelids that reinforced his seemingly permanent frown. He scratched his beard, which unlike his hair, was completely white and gray. Despite his age and experience in his line of work, it seemed like he was the type of person that never knew how to console people on loss. The young girl sitting across from him was no exception.

                “Well, that’s all we need. Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Sawyer.”

                “Of course,” she murmured, looking down at her folded hands.

                The officer got out of his chair, leaving the file on the table, and offered to lead Heather back to where her grandparents were waiting. She wanted to decline, wanting to get as far away from this man and this room as fast as possible, but her voice worked out a sound of agreement, or perhaps she nodded, because she was soon looking at the back of the officer’s head as he lead her out.

                After a long, bone-crushing hug from both her grandparents, she was in their car and back to their house. Looking out at the large space, accompanied with a well-trimmed garden in the front yard, filled Heather with a sense of dread that she couldn’t pinpoint. She wouldn’t ever be home again. It wasn’t like the cramped house she and her mother occupied was very comfortable, but for some reason her grandparents’ house made her feel incredibly lonely.

                Perhaps it was the fact this was her mother’s childhood home. She entered the house following her grandparents, her gaze on photos that lined the hallway of little Veronica’s school pictures and other types of photos that marked landmarks not many families took the time to keep or remember. No one spoke as they all entered the kitchen, Heather’s brown eyes landing on the flyer attached with a magnet to the fridge. It was a more recent picture of her mother, something Heather herself had taken with a camera she’d received from her grandparents for Christmas. Next to the image of Veronica was text that announced the time and date of her funeral and some vague details about her being a fantastic person that touched the hearts of everyone she’d come into contact with.

                Heather forced herself to stop staring at the flyer, turning her attention to her grandparents. They both seemed lost, her grandfather having an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he stared at seemingly nothing and her grandmother giving the flyer a bittersweet look.

                “Oh, Heather,” her grandma finally said, as if just realizing she was there. “Your mother, she wanted you to have this, right?” she asked, fishing a diary out from her monster of a purse and pushing the worn book over the kitchen counter. “It was her diary from her senior year. Maybe it’ll have some wisdom you can use next year,” her grandma said with a small, sad smile.

                Heather ran her hand over the cover of the journal, and carefully held it against her chest. The words written in the diary weren’t from her mother, she knew, they were from that girl in the photo with the newborn baby, before her hope disappeared and took the seventeen-year-old with it.

                Heather got up and made her way out of the kitchen, her heart pounding as she realized just exactly what this was. It was a glimpse into someone she trusted, she loved, but someone she barely knew. It was the last link she had to her mother.

                She climbed up the stairs to the guest bedroom that had been converted into her room. It was too big and too lonely for Heather’s taste, like the rest of the house. But still, she landed on her bed on her stomach, opening the cover to the diary.

                A smile made its way onto Heather’s face when she saw two photographs taped to the inside of the cover. One pictured a girl who could only have been her mother, and three others. A short girl dressed in yellow, who had been caught mid-laugh. A girl with so much red on Heather would have called the fashion police if she’d ever seen such an outfit at present-day Westerburg, with a camera-ready smile and a strong gaze that made her feel like she might be afraid. And lastly was a girl with pouty lips, round cheeks, and dark hair with a green blazer, her gaze cast at to the side.

                The next photograph was taped below the first, and seemed to be taken in front of a 7-Eleven. Again was the unusual image of her mother in her youth, a slushie in her hand as a smile lit up her face, her attention directed to the person next to her. He was taller than her by quite a bit, and was taking a sip from a blue raspberry slushie. There was something dark and off-putting about him that Heather gathered from the way his gaze seemed to focus on the camera lens, his overly large black trench coat she knew was an unusual choice even back in the ‘80’s.

                She turned to the first entry, eager to have her mother close to her again.

                _September 1 st, 1989_

_Dear Diary,_

_I believe I’m a good person. Y’know, I think there’s good in everyone, but here we are… First day of senior year! I’m looking around at these kids I’ve known basically my whole life and I’m asking myself: God, what happened?_

_Everything was alright until lunch. Kurt and Ram, in their usual asshole nature, decided it was a fantastic idea to mess Martha. Which meant they were messing with me, too…_

_God, Martha’s my best friend, and I can’t even protect her from dicks like Kurt and Ram, two of the dumbest kids at Westerburg. I told her we’ll have a movie night tonight, and I’m currently waiting for her to come over. Seriously, she takes forever._

_But, dear diary, I have some other… News. About the Heathers. You know, I’ve written about them in other entries in other diaries. They’re the clique I think every high school has – bitches that have had their whole life handed to them on a platter, the people who kick others who are already down to feel better about themselves. They’re solid Teflon, never bothered, never harassed…_

_I said I’d give anything to be like that. Well, today was my lucky break, ‘cause I basically got them out of a detention after lunch and now I guess I’m eating lunch with them tomorrow. And Heather Chandler invited me to a sleepover. With just her and the other two Heathers. I’m kinda scared._

_Oh! That’s Martha! Gotta go._

_♥_ _Veronica Sawyer_

                The… Heathers? As in, Heather? What did that mean? Heather wrinkled her nose at the old diary, wondering what in the world she would have done to get named after girls her mother seemingly hated. She didn’t have much time to wonder before her grandmother called up to her room.

                “Heather! Dinner!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully, I'll be updating this story more often since I'm done with my finals. please leave a review if you liked it!


	4. Chapter 4

                It was difficult to sit through the awkwardly silent dinner, to say the least. Heather struggled to choke down spaghetti with so much oregano that it couldn’t possibly be legal. Not to mention her grandmother almost bursting into tears… God, who knew a simple Italian dish could pull so much emotion out of someone? After quietly excusing herself, the teenage girl hurriedly made her way to her new room, glad to be out of the company of her weepy grandmother and her seemingly stoic grandfather. She loved them, sure, they were the only family she’d ever known besides her mother, but Heather had never been good with emotional people. Any words of comfort that flowed from her mouth always sounded fake, and she had the most inappropriate reactions to tragedy, for example, bursting out laughing at the sight of a stray dog being run over by a car in the neighborhood.

                Was her grief for her mother even hers to feel? Heather looked over the staircase to see her grandmother examining old family photos that hung over the fireplace, her eyes surely searching for her late daughter. Heather imagined what it would feel like to lose your only child, and wondered how her mother would get on if their roles were switched. Would she even care? Was it right for Heather to care? Despite attempting to give her daughter the best life she could possibly give, Veronica was never very aware of what went on in Heather’s world, and she didn’t really seem to care that much, either. She loved her the best she could while also pushing her away.

                Heather made her way back to her room, pushing the door open with a creak. She paused, looking around the room. Something was… Off, but what? Her brown gaze swept the room, but her vision didn’t give her any clue to why she had suddenly become alert.

                She cautiously stepped into the room, discomfort making her insides twist. _It’s just because I’m not used to it,_ she told herself as she made her way to her bed, taking a seat on top of the comforter and making the old mattress sink beneath her slight weight. Heather was very particular about her living space, probably more so than any other teenagers her age, always arranging her possessions and furniture neatly.

                The initial unease she’d felt melted away and she quickly remembered that she’d come back upstairs planning to delve deeper into her mother’s old diary. She clearly recalled setting the worn thing on the edge of her bed, but it wasn’t anywhere to be found. A frown creased her face as she searched, finally finding the diary on the floor on the other side of her bed. Heather got up from her perch on her bed and went to pick it up, examining the book and seeing that no harm had come to it.

                When she looked up from the diary, it dawned on her. There she was, her room’s window in her central view. It was cracked open, and she could feel the slight breeze from the outside world blowing in.

                Heather squinted as she thought, giving the window a hard look. She hadn’t opened it, had she? No. But perhaps it was open when she went downstairs…?

                She couldn’t remember. But there was no use getting upset over something that she couldn’t confirm, especially if that something was an opened window. She walked over and pushed down, closing the window and sealing herself from the fall chill.

                Lord, she couldn’t even remember if she left a window open or not. _You’re going crazy, Heather._

She sat back down on her bed with the diary back in her possession, leaning back into the mattress, opening to the next entry.

                _September 3 rd, 1989_

_Dear Diary,_

_Woops, meant to write in this yesterday, but I was sort of busy. A whole bunch of shit happened, specifically, with the Heathers. They convinced me to write this dumb note in Ram’s handwriting. Not so bad, right?_

_Wrong. They had me address it to Martha of all people… It was inviting her to this party tonight, among, uh, other things. Somehow that mythic bitch Chandler managed to convince me to actually slip the note to Martha…_

_At least she seems kinda happy?_

_When I finished the deed I turned around and saw this guy staring at me. It wasn’t in a creepy way, though… He just looked a little disappointed, if anything. Anyway, we were talking, and look, I don’t want to sound like a cliché here, but hot_ damn _…_

                _I don’t feel like a description would give this guy justice. He just has… A look about him, like he’s really seen some shit. And you can tell he’s fit, even though he slumps a bit and he wears this black trench coat. Also, his eyes, did I mention his eyes?_

_I’m getting a little distracted, oops. McNamara told me that he’s in her American History, and apparently he got expelled from his last school, and she also told me he rides a motorcycle. I asked her if she’s ever talked to him, and she shrugged. She doesn’t even know his name, so what good is what she told me? I have no clue, I’ll have to do some investigating of Mr. No Name Kid myself to see if any of that’s true. I personally have high hopes for the motorcycle bit._

_I’m not even done with what happened in the caf today. Kurt and Ram decided to pick on the new kid, and holy_ shit. _He fucked them up. Badly._

                _If I had him on my side, I wouldn’t need to be a part of the Heathers._

_But that’s just wishful thinking._

_Oh, yeah. I’m also going to Ram’s party tonight on the queen bee’s orders. I’m writing this down right now because I can hear her car horn right now. I can imagine her voice inside my head saying, “Let’s_ motor _!”_

_How very._

_♥_ _Veronica Sawyer_

The last sentences were scribbled as if the author were in a rush, which from the content, Heathers supposed she was. It took her a few minutes to decipher the chicken scratch, since even without the scribbled rush, Veronica’s handwriting was a bit difficult to discern. As soon as the entry ended, she went back to the beginning of the diary and looked at the inside cover.

                That had to be him, the trench coat guy her mother wrote about. _Duh._ Looking back at the picture, there was something about her mother’s pose that suggested she was in a state of mixed emotions, excited and nervous. Not to mention that look she gave the boy next to her. The photograph had to be a date, right? _Wow. At a 7-Eleven. Mom really picked out a keeper,_ Heather thought to herself, rolling her eyes.

                But still, the possibility that this was guy might very well be her father popped into her head. She could make out some similarities between her own facial features and his, most notable, the trace of a smile he wore in the particular picture, as well as his jaw. But she could possibly be overthinking things in her hurry to find truths from what little puzzle pieces her mother left behind. Her mother was a pretty girl, it wasn’t like she could only ever have one boyfriend. And the mystery boy might not even _be_ a boyfriend.

                Any doubt in her mind was erased by the next entry, though.

                _September 4 th, 1989_

_Dear Diary,_

_Last night I threw up on Heather Chandler and then broke into JD’s (Yes, Mr. No Name Kid is nameless no more! His full name’s Jason Dean but for some reason everyone calls him by his initials. Or he just told me that to make me look like an idiot. Not completely sure yet.) house and had sex with him. My first time getting drunk went incredibly well if I do say so myself. Bye-bye virginity._

_And Chandler, well…_

_God, you have to trust me, I didn’t mean to kill her. I know I said some bad shit about her, but I never wanted her_ really _dead. I know it’s not JD’s fault, either. He was just trying to play a joke with the liquid drainer and it wasn’t funny at all but the cleaner and the hangover cure got mixed up and…_

 _Well, she fell through the glass coffee table and she was dead. Seriously, DEAD. JD got me back to reality and had me write a fake suicide note so no one would know it was us… I don’t want to go to jail. And it was an accident! We didn’t mean to do anything. It just happened! We’re both just seventeen, alright, we can’t go to_ jail _._

_And to think everything was perfectly normal yesterday evening. I ran into JD at a 7-Eleven, and I almost ditched the party. I would have if it weren’t for Chandler. But, I actually had a blast at the party until Martha showed up and everyone was in on some twisted prank on her. After defending my best friend, Chandler told me I was (Thank God) no longer a “Heather”, but she’d make sure all the bullying and shit that happened before was going to be 10x worse. Then I threw up on her and she was absolutely pissed and I wandered around for a bit and turns out JD lives on the same block as Ram!_

_I forgot how I knew it was his house. I think there was a motorcycle parked outside, because I remember thinking, “Damn, shouldn’t you lock that up?” and I suppose I just took my chances and climbed through his bedroom window. Yikes, Veronica._

_My drunk logic was that on Monday, he wouldn’t want anything to do with me because of what Heather was going to do. Not be too graphic slash vulgar but I also just wanted to fuck him. It’s sort of a miracle he wanted to come with me to Heather’s in the morning in the first place._

_I mean, it would be a miracle if she weren’t fucking_ dead _now!_

_I don’t feel too bad. It could be worse. I could be getting questioned right now and then being thrown behind bars. Maybe Westerburg will become more peaceful since the queen’s been taken out. Well, it was one hell of a first date with JD, if I can even call it that._

_It’s like he told me at 7-Eleven: The extreme always seems to make an impression._

_♥  Veronica Sawyer_


	5. Chapter 5

                Heather closed the leather book and carefully set it down on her comforter, staring at the diary that contained all of her mother’s dark secrets. She had a feeling the rest of these secrets were best left unknown, at least, until she consulted someone about it. Her grandparents would freak out, and they were so old and emotionally fragile, a wrong move could probably cause a heart attack. Her mother was obviously out of the question, but Heather so wished she could contact whatever world her dead mother now resided in… Without ever going near things like Ouija boards, of course. And no way could she approach Joey with any of this shit without scaring him off.

                That left her friends. Caitlin, the new addition to the school clique that was far too snarky for her own good, and someone Heather couldn’t quite trust. Anna was a viable option, since the two had been friends ever since the first day of fourth grade, but then again, they’d grown considerably distant since the beginning of high school, and she was an extreme party girl that would surely spill all of Heather’s concerns the next time she had a drink in her. Jenni was a kind girl who Heather and Anna had met in seventh grade, and there was nothing bad about her, except for the fact she was a major ditz that always said the wrong thing and would just probably make Heather feel more confused.

                The final option was Ashley. It was difficult to believe that the first time they’d met, Heather approached her with malicious intent. Ashley was the stereotypically dorky East Asian kid. Her freshman status and awkwardly lanky body that she hadn’t quite figured out how to own into yet weren’t on her side, either. Heather strolled over to the table she was sitting alone at with a bit too much swagger and ego on her side, ready to make a quick jab at Ashley loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear. All in good fun, her clique had convinced her.

                But she couldn’t do it once she saw the tears on the girl’s face. Her flushed cheeks and puffy eyes caused a lump to form in Heather’s throat, and for a moment it felt like she were looking at her reflection. The first time they’d met, Heather learned the main difference between her and her soon-to-be BFF – Ashley was openly emotional, and Heather did all her weeping behind closed doors.

                And so, instead of poking fun at the pathetic freshman sitting all alone and eating pizza the same density of cardboard, Heather took her under her wing. Her and her clique taught her what to wear, what to say, what to do to get respect and love. But Ashley soon set out onto her own style which set her apart from the regular polished plastic look Heather and her crew sported, and which earned her the title of “that girl that got super hot over winter break”. Her spunk and her personality made Ashley and Heather instant best friends.

                She didn’t know if she could really trust Ashley with all the thoughts swirling in her mind, but then again, if she couldn’t talk about what Veronica’s diary read with Ashley, who else did she have?

                Heather picked up the diary again, just having finished setting it on her desk when she heard a pattern of knocks sounding against her bedroom door.

                “Grandma?” Heather greeted after creaking open the door. It didn’t seem possible, but the woman looked around five years older, and still very emotionally raw. They say time heals, but it looked like it would take much more than two weeks for Grandma Sawyer to stop getting that look in her eyes where Heather knew she was comparing her living granddaughter to her dead daughter.

                “Heather, darling,” she said, a leathery hand moving forward to push a strand of dark brown hair behind her granddaughter’s ear. “You’re so beautiful,” she sighed, a small, sad smile on her face. “Lovely. Just like your mother.”

                “Thank you, Grandma,” Heather said politely, hoping her face didn’t give away how uncomfortable she was at the words. The comparison between her and her mother, two very different people, weirded her out even before she read the entry about a girl Veronica had supposedly murdered. With Heather’s father.

                “Would you like any dessert?” her grandmother asked, the dazed look disappearing from her face as her hand went back to her side. “I just finished a batch of chocolate chip cookies with no chocolate chips. Your favorite.”

                “No thanks, Grandma. I think I’m just going to go to bed,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I have school tomorrow,” she added, then said a quick goodnight before closing the door on her doting grandmother.

                Heather sighed, every thought in her mind begging her to open the diary, to continue to read the entries her mother wrote so long ago. What other secrets did she keep from her daughter?

                Heather pushed the light switch down with a finger and slid under the covers of her bed, knowing she couldn’t possibly tolerate any more of her mother’s writing before consulting Ashley. It turned to be a long night of her mind racing and replaying various images of her passed mother.

* * *

                The next morning, Heather slipped the diary into her school bag and “forgot” the rest of her papers, knowing full well she would not be prowling the halls of Westerburg that day. Grandma drove her to school, and as soon as Heather got out of the passenger seat, it was like all eyes were on her. Ever since the principal had taken her to his office, she hadn’t been to school and instead did her work from home while the police conducted their investigation. Her friends called her and begged to know what was happening, and rumors surely spread, but Heather just wanted to mourn her mother in peace before the entire student body of Westerburg High School began dissecting the tragedy.

                “Heather, oh my God!”

                Ashley’s arms were wrapped around her immediately, the hug so rough Heather stumbled back a bit. “You’re here! It’s been two _weeks_! GOD, I just have so much to tell you! Everyone’s been asking where you’ve been, and, and–”

                Heather laughed, interrupting the normally calm and quiet Ashley’s rambling. “Yeah, I’m alive. Break’s over.”

                “What happened? People were saying that Principal Johnson kidnapped you or something,” Ashley said.

                “No, no, that didn’t happen. Look, all of this is a really long story… Let’s just ditch and walk to Duke’s, okay?”

                “I guess I could use a coffee,” Ashley agreed.

* * *

                 The bell above the small café’s front door ringed as the two girls walked in. A hostess was waiting at the front to seat those looking for a delicious freshly made breakfast. The woman’s eyes narrowed as Heather and Ashley approached, her quizzical gaze scanning them both. “Aren’t you girls supposed to be in school?” she asked.

                “Oh, it’s a half-day,” Heather lied breezily. “We don’t go in until the afternoon for classes. It’s some kind of teacher seminar, I think, I didn’t really read much about it,” she said apologetically.

                The hostess shrugged, the fake explanation apparently sufficient enough. “Follow me,” the woman said, leading them to a booth nestled near the kitchen and restroom of the cozy restaurant. As soon as the hostess left them, a waitress appeared and asked if they wanted to order anything to drink.

                They went ahead and ordered two coffees and two muffins, claiming that they wouldn’t need their menus. The waitress took the two menus from the table and soon returned with their orders.

                Ashley dumped cream and sugar into her coffee, mixing it with her fork while Heather takes apart a muffin and dips piece of it into her own scalding drink and eats it, causing Ashley to wrinkle her nose with disgust. “Take your coffee black, but don’t you dare bring that poor pastry into the mix!”

                Heather gave her a smile, blowing on her coffee and taking a sip, the hot liquid pleasant down her throat especially with the fall weather outside. But, she led Ashley here for a reason, and that didn’t include making idle chat over coffee and muffins. Besides, she could tell her friend was dying to know what happened, and just didn’t want to be pushy by pressing the subject.

                “So, my mom died. An officer came to school and got me.”

                Ashley gasped, looking horrified. “What? Why didn’t you tell us?”

                Heather shrugged. “I didn’t want to tell anyone before I went back to school. I just wanted some more time with my mom, I guess.” Ashley looked like she was about to cry, and Heather wouldn’t be surprised if she did. Heather and Veronica’s old house was like a second home to the girl.

                “I’m so sorry, Heather… Oh my God, she’s really…?”

                “Yeah. Shot herself.”

                Heather took a moment to swallow the tears building up in her throat, looking up to see Ashley misty-eyed. “That’s awful. You know she loved you, right?”

                “I know, Ashley. Thanks.”

                “Let’s go to the mall after this, alright? Retail therapy can work wonders, and those puppies at the pet store aren’t gonna pet themselves.”

                “Thanks, Ashley. Also, my mom left me something.”      

                “What?” she asked, curiosity lighting her face.

                “This diary.” Heather retrieved the book from her bag and slid it across the table to Ashley, who stared at it with wide eyes, unsure if it was alright to even touch the diary. “I’ve read the entries up to September 4th one. Just… Read them, alright? I don’t even have anything else to say,” Heather said, rubbing her temples and taking another drink of her coffee.

                Heather busied herself with watching the other customers in the café as Ashley took her time reading the diary entries. The bell above the door rang at inconsistent times, mingling in with the breakfast chatter and scraping of forks on plates to create a melody that put her at ease.

                After what seemed like forever, Ashley pushed the book away and looked up to Heather. “What the fuck?”

                “That’s what I’m saying,” Heather said, looking down at her lap where her hands had carefully shredded a napkin to pieces.

                “You think… Jesus Christ,” Ashley muttered. “You know we have to look this up, right?”

                “What?” Heather asked, looking confused.

                “There HAS to be articles online about this! It’s old news, but a _murder_ at Westerburg? That’s made to look like a suicide? If this is real, there will be some sort of memorial article on the Internet. We just have to Google it, Heather,” Ashley said.

                “What if it’s true?” Heather asked, feeling like she might choke on her own words. Her own mother, a murderer? “What if she…?”

                “It’s not true, Heather,” Ashley said firmly. “C’mon, let’s go. The library’s only like a mile walk.”

                The two girls paid for their small meal and got up to leave, bags slung over their shoulders. The hostess told them goodbye and to have a nice morning, and Heather turned to return the pleasantry as she pushed open the door, which resulted her slamming into an oncoming customer.

                “Sorry!” she squeaked, moving past the man who nearly knocked her down. “Wasn’t looking.” Her face was flushed with embarrassment as she looked out the window to see Ashley giving her a weird look. _What’s the hold-up?_ she mouthed.

                “No worries,” the man replied, and relieved to have conclude the awkward occurrence, Heather made her way out of the café.

                “Yikes,” Ashley giggled, and Heather playfully punched her in the shoulder.

                Suddenly feeling the weight of something on her, Heather paused. It was like something wasn’t right, the same feeling she got last night with the open window and misplaced diary. Like someone had come in and moved around the pieces to a board game where they weren’t the player. Like someone was watching her.

                Heather turned around, and for a moment, she caught the gaze of the man she bumped into. It might as well have just been her imagination, though, because the hostess was leading him to his table in the same second.

                “Heather?” Ashley called.

                “Yeah, coming!”


End file.
